


What It Wants

by ladyoneill



Series: Dark Side Of The Moon [42]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Mates, Mpreg, Something Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 22:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2325812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The conception of their third child isn't Stiles' choice, but it's not Peter's either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What It Wants

**Author's Note:**

> Begun for the fullmoon ficlet prompt "...or die" but then I got sick and had no energy to finish it. On the mend (hopefully) I've done so. It's dubious consent of the 'made them do it' variety only. Peter and Stiles are in love by this point. Set before Peter gets arrested by Agent McCall.

There are four of them. Wood nymphs, their bark skin healthy, their leaf hair starting to turn as fall approaches. As they stand at the cardinal directions, facing the nemeton, arms raised to the cloudless noon day sky, their eyes gleam silver and they chant a ritual older than the forest.

Bound to the stump by tightening vines, Stiles writhes and curses them as the ritual builds and the power seeps into his veins. He's naked, on his elbows and knees, legs spread and held down. It's not an unfamiliar position and a feeling of dread has been growing in him since the vines ripped off his clothes.

Not all of them prehensile things are binding him. A few are waving around his body. When one touches his ass he quivers and yells at them to stop.

**For years you have taken from the nemeton and given nothing back, not since your initial sacrifice.**

The voice is soft but firm, pushing past his mental defenses and invading his head. The aroma of ripe apples fills his nose.

**You will give us a being of power. A child of the forest. A wolf all our own.**

No.

His breath choking in his throat, Stiles stiffens. 

Another one's thoughts invade his mind, the voice rough like the bark of an oak. **On her first moon she will be ours.**

Fuck no!

He resumes his struggles. This can't happen. He won't get pregnant by a tree.

There's a tinkling laugh in his head like a willow's leaves brushing together. **Silly boy. Semen and egg create life. Here, at the nemeton, the mingling of sex and sacrifice will gift to us a being of power.**

Into the clearing, on all fours, as close to his Alpha form as he gets these days, bursts Peter. Howling in fury he attacks the nearest nymph only to be easily rebuffed, sent flying onto the stump next to Stiles. More vines sprout, shredding his clothes. As he fights, they twist and turn him, binding him into place between Stiles' spread legs, draped over his back.

Through their mate bond, Stiles can feel Peter's panic, his horror, his love. He sends the last back, trying to calm him, but there are tears on his cheeks and he's so scared.

He loves Peter. Any other time he'd be eager to make love, but not forced like this. Not to create a child these creatures want to steal.

"Whatever you want, you bitches," Peter growls, "I won't do."

The second nymph speaks again, its voice hard and cruel. **Then we shall kill him before your eyes. Such a powerful mage's death here at the nemeton shall sustain us for a millennia.**

Fear from Peter floods into him and Stiles tries to look back at him, but a vine twines around his throat, slowly squeezing, and he gasps for air, his whole body spasming.

"No, stop!"

Through teary eyes, he sees his mate's claws dig into the stump on either side of his own, bound hands, and sap seeps from the holes. The vine at his throat loosens and he draws in shuddering breaths.

The ritual begins anew, the chanting making the trees sway and autumn flowers bloom. Even as the wolf thrashes, trying to tear his way free, Stiles feels Peter's cock harden against his back.

"No! I'll hurt him! Please don't force..." When Peter's voice chokes off, Stiles tries to twist his head around, but he's pinned too tightly, and then he feels it, something slick and wet probing him and it's not Peter's cock.

It pushes in and Peter roars in horror.

It pushes deep, knobby but too flexible for a penis, and, realizing what it is, Stiles cries out in shock and fear.

The nemeton. It's fucking into him, spreading him, lubricating him. Oh God...

He's going to pass out.

The thing pulls out, leaving Stiles panting and gasping for air as panic makes his head swirl.

"Bitches!" Peter's still fighting, cursing and struggling. "I'll kill you all for this!"

**Take your mate. Give us what we want** says the fourth, a being of white and silver that flakes as it moves.

"No, Peter! They want..." Before he can tell him, another vine slaps across his mouth, tendrils filling him as tight as a ball gag, and, unable to talk, forced to breathe through his nose, Stiles wilts and shudders.

"I love you," Peter murmurs into his ear. "We'll survive this. Be strong, my darling." As he speaks, he thrusts into him, the pace quick, as they both just need this done.

Sickened by what the nymphs are forcing them to do, Stiles can't even get aroused, just trembles and tries not to cry.

Not about to prolong this for his own pleasure, Peter ends it quickly. With a bitten off growl, he comes and braces himself over his mate to keep from crushing him into the hard wood. Within a minute the vines retreat and Stiles collapses with a moan, pulling himself free from his mates softening cock.

"No..."

"Stiles, oh fuck, Stiles." Peter pets him, tries to cradle him, but Stiles can't bear it, pulls away, curls into a ball.

Silence, broken only by their harsh breathing, falls over the nemeton. Stiles feels its power leeching into him, latching onto him, changing him, and he knows it took.

Conception, for the third time against his will, but this time...maybe against Peter's, too.

"They're gone."

Slowly pushing to his already sore knees, Stiles looks around the clearing and takes in the changes. The nymphs are gone, but from the base of the nemeton at the cardinal directions four trees are growing, healthy, green, three feet in height and swaying in the breeze.

He shivers and wraps his arms around himself and hates everything.

Peter's worried eyes are on him, but he doesn't reach out again, waiting, and finally Stiles goes to him, curls onto his lap, buries his face in his neck, but he doesn't cry.

"Why did they do this?"

"They...they want the baby." Through their bond he can feel the Alpha's shock, and isn't surprised when his hand comes to rest lightly on his stomach. "A wolf of their own," he adds bitterly. "They'll take her on her first moon."

"Over my dead body."

The growl is reassuring, but Stiles is at a loss. He doesn't know if they can stop eternal beings from taking her from them.

But, he's the most powerful Emissary the world has seen in centuries and his Alpha Mate can be an evil, determined bastard. They have around thirteen years. Time hopefully to figure it out.

Even if Stiles has to burn the fucking nemeton to ash.

End


End file.
